Luke 11:9
by MLaw
Summary: 'Luke 11:9. 'And I say to you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened to you'. Illya is missing and presumed dead and a devastated Solo wrestles with believing it to be true or not. (written for the Holiday PicFic on Section7mfu, Live journal. (The bible quotes and wintry pictures were the prompts)
1. Chapter 1

It had started to snow again, making driving conditions treacherous on the already icy and slick road. Solo and Kuryakin were returning from a failed mission, during which the life of an innocent had been lost.

Such a thing always weighed heavily on both men, but more so with the Russian. It seemed at times to Solo that Illya felt personally responsible for every life, as if it were his fault the innocent was killed.

For once this was the case and made it worse and for that reason. Illya, looking pale, sat behind the steering wheel in their car, dour-faced and silent.

There was no use trying to reason with him, but in spite of that Napoleon still tried. He was convinced he could make Illya feel better.

The girl named Grushenka, was the target of the Russian mob, being the daughter of a chemist they'd tried to recruit for their blossoming illicit drug trade.

Kuryakin sent her into a building to get her out of the line of fire, telling her to hide in a closet until he or Solo came to get her. He had no way of knowing the building used by the mob had been booby trapped.

Grushenka must have triggered something and the building blew to kingdom come. Needless to say, Illya was rather ruthless in taking out remaining the gang members.

Solo rushed his partner as he stood over the last wounded man, and watched as Illya fired a bullet into his head in a sort of bloodthirsty execution. He tried to stop the angry Russian, but it was too late.

"He would have died anyway,"Kuryakin reasoned." His chest wound was a mortal one. So I just put the _ublyudok_ bastard_, out of his misery, though he did not deserve such mercy."

"Doing that wouldn't bring her back tovarisch."

"Napoleon I know you mean well but please just let it be?"

Once the cleanup crew arrived, the partners left the scene...

Solo shrugged, reached over turning on the radio, tuning the dial to his favorite radio station. He needed something cheerful to listen to and what better than some Christmas music.

Hearing it reminded him it was December 20th, and he was looking forward to having a peaceful holiday, full of cheer and of course mistletoe. Mmmm, mistletoe and all the lovely lips he'd be kissing under it.

The radio was playing 'The Christmas Song'...who better than Nat King Cole than to get you in the spirit?

"_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols being sung by a choir And folks dressed up like Eskimos/ Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe. Help to make the season bright, Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow, Will find it hard to sleep tonight. They know that Santa's on his way…"_

Illya turned to him, his face looking almost feral.

"Must you play that tripe?"

"Why don't you stop acting like an ass and get over it and yourself. We can't change what happened!" Napoleon didn't try to hide the annoyance in his voice." And it's not tripe…" At that moment Solo turned his head, looking at the road ahead.

"Look out!" He yelled, grabbing the steering wheel from his distracted partner but it was too late.

The car careened over the end of a collapsed bridge and plunged into the freezing water below. It quickly filled the interior of the car, and was so clouded with churned up silt that it made it impossible to see.

Napoleon unbuckled his seatbelt and once the pressure equalized between the outside and inside the car, he was able to open the door, and he swam upwards, fighting back the panic he was feeling as he burst burst to the surface, gasping for breath. He floundered for a minute; the life-long fear of drowning filling him. He gained his composure, taking deep breaths. He could do this, he could swim, though he wasn't as good a swimmer as Illya.

That thought suddenly filled him with another fear; he paddled, turning as he did so, looking for his partner.

"Illya!' He yelled, calling several times but there was no answer. There was no blond head bobbing in the water.

Though his teeth were beginning to chatter, he took a deep breath, diving back down in search of the car. Finding it, he pulled himself inside; the silt and detrius had settled, making it easier to see, but there was no sign of him.

The driver side door was still closed...

Napoleon swam upwards, getting air again and dove time and again searching for the missing Russian but had no luck.

He pulled himself to the shore line, scanning the river for any signs of Kuryakin as he might have dragged himself up and out to the snow covered river bank….nothing, no sign at all.

Solo's hands shook as he pulled his communicator from his jacket pocket, thanking God it was water-proof.

"Open channel D- emergency. Agent down."

"Waverly here Mr. Solo what's happened?"

He explained as best he could through chattering teeth, after which he was advised to get up and keep moving. A rescue helicopter was being launched immediately and would be there in no more than twenty minutes.

The chopper arrived and Solo was brought on board, his wet clothes removed and wrapped in several heavy warming blankets and given a cup of hot coffee. A pair of dry socks were put on his feet that were slightly blue, as were his lips.

Napoleon waited impatiently as a quick search was launched for Illya but once a second rescue chopper arrived, the first, carrying the senior agen had to leave, even though he argued against it.

Once the helicopter landed at the helipad atop headquarters, Napoleon was taken immediately to Medical and given a thorough going over and given a clean bill of health.

Alexander Waverly didn't wait for Solo to dress and report to his conference room, and arrived just as his CEA was being released.

"Any sign of Mr. Kuryakin sir?"

The Old Man's face, normally placid and unreadable gave Solo his answer.

"I am afraid it's feared he's dead young man. If he were unconscious, the swift moving water could have swept his body away. It saddens me to say that we may not locate it until Spring, if at all."

Napoleon lowered his head, obviously shaken up at the news. It would have been bad enough to lose Illya on a mission but for this to have happened because he'd distracted the man as he drove. Now Solo knew how his partner felt, blaming himself for the loss of the innocent and now Napoleon felt responsible for the accident that.._.killed his partner._

"Senseless I know young man," Waverly put his hand on his agents shoulder, trying to offer a modicum of comfort. Death was something they dealt with everyday, but not this way, not due to a mere accident.

"I want you to take a few days off Mr. Solo...no take some time off until the New Year has arrived. THRUSH has taken their usual sabbatical and chatter across the board is practically nil."

Solo gave a somber nod, not saying a word.

"Mr. Solo...Napoleon, these things happen, though I know that's no comfort. Mr. Kuryakin will be missed, to say the least."

"Yes sir, and thank you."

Napoleon finished dressing himself in a suit someone had brought up from the office he shared with his partner.

He didn't want to face going there, but knew he had to do it.

As he walked the busy corridors of headquarters, his tie uncharacteristically loosened, eyes diverted from making contact with his. Word had spread fast about Kuryakin and no one wanted to be the first to offer condolences, not just yet as the loss just happened.

As the doors to the office opened, Napoleon's gaze automatically went to Illya's desk, half-expecting the shaggy-haired blond to be sitting there, busily clicking away on his typewriter.

The room was silent except for the sound of a fluorescent light that was buzzing. Illya had said he was going to report it to maintenance, but Napoleon guessed he never got the chance.

He flopped into his desk chair, lost in his feeling of emptiness. The body hadn't been found, he reasoned, so perhaps there was a chance, even if it was a slight one that Illya might be alive. He just had to be alive.

The Russian was just too wily, and a strong swimmer to let a small river get the better of him. Didn't Illya tell him he used to swim in the icy waters of the Moscow river when he was in training for the GRU?

Napoleon was still in a state of shock from his own frigid encounter and decided he needed a drink. He couldn't do that here, and going to a bar was out of the question. He'd been given time off to deal with this, and deal with it he would at home, with his own private reserve Scotch.

As he walked back out into the corridor he was approached by Nancy Miller, a svelte woman with her blonde hair done up into a well coiffed bouffant hairdo.

"Napoleon, what time are you picking me up for dinner tonight?" She crooned, as she ran her neatly manicured pink polished nail along his cheek. She'd apparently not heard the news.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Gee Nancy, I'll have to give you a raincheck until after the New Year as something's come up."

"Oh really?" She put her hands on her hips, taking a defensive stance."You made another date didn't you?"

"Nooo, I didn't, really. I'm sorry I have to go." He tried sidestepping her.

"Wait a minute Mister, you're not giving me the brush off are you?"

"Please, Nancy I have to go." The look in his eyes gave away his pain.

"Napoleon what's wrong?"

"It's Illya. He...he might be dead."

"Oh I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you want some company?"

"No thank you. I need to be alone, you understand." He crinkled his nose as he spoke; this time he sidestepped her without resistance, and left the woman there, not looking back.

He dropped his badge off at reception, with Wanda manning the desk. She knew and didn't hesitate to offer her condolences.

"Napoleon, I heard the news, and I'm so sorry. Though part of me wants to believe he's out there somewhere and alive. He's survived worse things so many times before, hasn't he?"

"Thanks Wanda. Those are my thoughts exactly, but there's part of me that's mourning the fact that he just might be…" he hesitated saying it, as if admitting it might make it be true, "dead."

Wanda stepped from behind her desk, offering him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks Wanda...I guess I'll see you after the… well Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

"The same to you Napoleon."

He headed out, waving his goodnight to the agent on duty in the tailor shop as Del was off on his own Christmas vacation.

Napoleon stood for a moment on the snow covered sidewalk until he spotted a taxi and flagged it down, but instead of going home he asked to be taken to St. Patrick's Cathedral. If it hadn't been snowing he could have walked it in five minutes. It probably would have helped to clear his head all that cold air and snow, this was Illya's kind of weather.

Napoleon chastised himself, thinking of that. He had to stop doing that...what if Illya really was dead?

The taxi pulled up directly in front of the church, with people leaving as mass had just let out. He tipped the driver a healthy amount...it was getting close to Christmas after all and needed to remember taxi drivers were working their tails off this time of year and needed every penny they could get for their families.

Solo slowly walked up the steps to the church, and stepping inside, he reached to the basin containing holy water, dipped in his fingers and blessed himself as he genuflected before sliding into one of the pews in the back.

It had been quite some time since he'd stepped into God's House, much less prayed, but he knelt down, clasping his hands together.

"I know I should do this more often, and I'm sorry for not remembering to talk to you more often. I'm not looking for forgiveness for me and my wicked ways….I think I know what you have in store for me, though maybe the good things I do to save the world might sort of counterbalance all that? Dear God, I'm here to ask to to please protect my friend Illya, please let him be alive? He's a good man who tries his best to do what's right...most of the time. More so than me perhaps. He says he doesn't believe in You, but I think he really does. Something happened when he was young but he won't tell me what it is. He just needs time, I think, to see that You haven't forgotten him. Oh Jesus please let him be all right?"

Napoleon fought back his tears, and covered his face with his hands as they began to trickle down his cheeks. He let out a sob, still fearing the worst.

"May I help you my son?" A priest dressed in his black cassock stepped up beside the seated agent.

"Oh, no father," he hesitated, wiping his eyes with his fingers." I was just praying. You see my friend, actually my best friend who is more like a brother to me is missing. He may have drowned...there was an accident. I distracted him while he was driving and the bridge was out…"

"I'm sorry to hear that. You've come to the right place though. What better place to have a dialogue with our Father than in His house? Now pray with me, In the name of the Father the Son and the Holy Ghost."

The priest began and Solo joined him…

"_Our Father, Who art in heaven, _

_Hallowed be Thy Name. _

_Thy Kingdom come. _

_Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. _

_Give us this day our daily bread. _

_And forgive us our trespasses, _

_as we forgive those who trespass against us._

_And lead us not into temptation,_

_but deliver us from evil. Amen."_

"Remember my son, seek and you will find, though it may not be what you expect." He made the sign of the cross over Napoleon's head, blessing him.

"Thank you Father," Solo rose from the pew. "Merry Christmas."

"And to you my son. I'll pray your friend is found safe and sound."

"From your mouth to God's ears Father…"

Napoleon hailed another cab, taking him home to that bottle of scotch. He stepped inside his apartment after disabling and resetting the alarm system. He thought for a moment about walking downstairs to Illya's place, hoping the Russian was just there, but he knew better. Doing so would only upset him again.

He took off is wool overcoat, hanging it up in the bathroom as it was still a bit damp and headed directly to his liquor cabinet. He grabbed the ice bucket first, filling it with ice and taking one of his cut crystal glasses, he settled in on the sofa, pouring his first glassful. He downed it and poured another.

Unlike his partner, Napoleon owned a television set and he got up, turning it on and tuning it to the news on NBC. They'd just began to broadcast in color and that was taking a bit to get used to it.

He just managed to catch the last few minutes of the newly expanded Huntley-Brinkley report, apparently the rumors had been true...the Berlin Wall was now open to West Berliners, for all the good it would do," he snickered to himself. A commercial came on advertising 'Etch a Sketch,' a Bozo the Clown bop bag and something called a 'Slinky Dog."

Toys, the last think he needed to hear about. The only child in his family was his sister's daughter and she was too young to know what it was really all about. Like Thanksgiving, his parents and three sisters would be overseas for the holiday. Aunt Amy was away as well, staying on a tropical isle somewhere.

Napoleon downed another scotch, followed by another, until he was stinking drunk. That was his goal this evening. Rather than making it into the bedroom, he just flopped on his side, laying down on the sofa, and that's where he remained, passed out.

Though it wasn't a restful sleep as he dreamt of the accident, and illya, but instead he was yelling at the Russian to keep his eyes on the road. The scene played over and over, each time ending with their plunge into the icy river.

"Napoleon I am here!" He heard Illya call." Help me. I need you. Where are you?"

Solo woke up with a gasp."Illya?" He shielded his eyes from the painful morning light, and moaned. His head felt as though it had been run over by a Mack truck.

He looked at the bottle on the coffee table and figured, "What the hell, a little hair of the dog."

Napoleon took a swig directly from the bottle, instantly regretting it.

He remembered his dream, and hearing Illya's voice and became convinced now his partner was still alive, somewhere out there in the cold...


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon showered and shaved, dressing himself more appropriately for hiking in the snow, though he wasn't going for a stroll around Central Park.

Waverly had given him off until after New Year's; barring any sort of international emergency. THRUSH always seemed to take the time off as well and unless is was some other lunatic determined to take over the world, Solo didn't expect that call for once.

He hadn't planned sitting around crying in his tea about Kuryakin and decided to be a little proactive.

Napoleon threw on his heavy wool coat and galoshes, reminding himself to bring that red and black-checked hat of his that Illya always made fun of, and filling a backpack with binoculars along with other sundry supplies; he hopped into his car after cleaning off the newly fallen snow and headed out to the scene of the accident to search for his missing partner.

Though an UNCLE team had done so already and not found a clue, that wasn't good enough for the senior agent.

**( ****Collapse**** )**

It was just over the border in Northwest New Jersey, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. There was a small village around 5 miles away from where the bridge had gone out, if Illya had made it out and had gone on foot, there was always a remote chance he made it there. There was also the possibility that if he did made it out of the river, he could have frozen to death as the temperatures were near zero.

After the long and quiet ride (Napoleon refused to turn on the radio), He arrived at what remained of the bridge. Their car had been dredged up from the river and taken to an U.N.C.L.E. garage for examination, not that he planned to go back into that frigid water again to look anyway.

He spent the day walking up and down along the rivers edge, searching for any sign, though whatever could have been there had since been covered by a fresh blanketing of snow. Still he had to look anyway, just to satisfy himself, not that he didn't trust the team from headquarters….well maybe he did when it came to Illya.

Napoleon stopped to rest, parking himself on a fallen tree trunk. The sun was going to go down soon and he needed to get back to where he'd left his car. As he stood, scanning the water's edge one last time; he spotted it, a black shoe; the tip of which was sticking out of the snow. How he'd missed it before, he had no idea.

Solo picked it up, removing his black leather gloves as he examined it.

It looked like Illya's shoe... black smooth leather mod style oxfords with a slightly pointed rounded toe, moccasin construction, four eyelet lacing, leather soles, and rubber heels. He'd convinced Illya that he needed a well-made high end shoe and he went for ones made in the UK by Alan Edwards. Napoleon received his final proof it belonged to his partner when he was able to loosen the heel and found a bit of plastic explosive and fuses hidden inside.

It was two miles from the bridge; did Illya walk out of the water or was the shoe simply lost and washed up? Napoleon squinted, looking into the woods, and not seeing any clear path his partner could have taken.

"Illya, where the hell are you?"

The sound of a some sort of hawk flying on the air currents, most likely searching for prey, drew his eyes to the sky. He was surprised to see it as he recalled most of that type of bird migrated south this time of year.

"Illya would know the answer to that," he sighed. "Damn..."

Napoleon held tightly onto that shoe as he followed the river back to the bridge and to his car. Just as he was about to get into it he heard a the snap of a twig behind him, and turned, drawing his gun from its holster as a reflexive action.

"_Tovarisch?_"

"Whoa, Mister take it easy!" An older man dressed in dark clothes and wearing a bright orange hunting vest emerged from the woods. He was carrying a 12 gauge shotgun, hanging open as it rested on his forearm.

"Who are you? And what are you up to?" Solo demanded, aiming his Special directly at the man.

"I should be asking that of you Mister, you're the one who drew on me, but in the spirit of cooperation I'll answer your question. The name is Chambellan, Walter Chambellan. I was just doing a little hunting...bear season you know, though that's not what I was after. Never know when you'll run into one. Don't think you could do much damage to a black bear with that little pea-shooter of yours."

Napoleon, sensing no real danger, put away his weapon.

"No I was hunting or rather looking for someone."

"Is it that fellow who went down in the river? Yeah there was a lot of folks here looking for him since it happened. Real shame, but this is quick moving water and most likely he was carried way down stream where there's more top ice. That's probably where he is."

"Oh…" Napoleon's eyes betrayed him.

"I'm sorry Mister, was he a friend of yours?"

"My best friend."

"You have my condolences. Well if you're going to keep on looking you oughta be real careful of the black bears, lots of them around this year." Walter restrained himself from suggesting the bears might have already had at what was left of his friend, that just wouldn't be right."

"Well thank you for your advice. I guess I'm going to head out. Any chance there's some back roads that run farther down along the river?"

"No, it's all pretty dense wood. I have to be off myself. Need to clean up these rabbits," he held up a pair of them," they'll make a fine stew. If you don't mind waiting to eat, you're welcome to join me for supper."

"No thank you, but that's very kind of you to offer Walter." He held out his hand to the man; slipping him a business card as he did so. "I apologize for not introducing myself. My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo. If you happen to hear anything or find anything please give me a call?"

"Would love to help you son but I don't have a telephone. I only go into the village once every couple of weeks and I was just there a few days ago."

"I understand, thank you."

The two men turned from each other, but Walter looking back, waved to Napoleon.

"Merry Christmas Mr. Solo. I'll pray you find your friend. God works in mysterious ways. Maybe you're overdue for a Christmas miracle.

"Thank you Walter and a Merry Christmas to you too."

Snow started falling again as he got into the car, sitting there and watching the older man disappear into the woods until he was gone out of sight.

Removing his hat and gloves, Napoleon started the engine with a roar, not feeling right about leaving. It was if he were abandoning his friend and partner, but he had not choice. There was little else he could do at this point now that the sun was going down.

He stared down at the shoe he'd laid on the seat behind him, suddenly feeling the need to talk to it.

"Come on tovarisch, this can't be it. You've gotten out of worse situations. Just give me a sign, let me know where you are and that you're all right? Please?"

He looked up, seeing a lone deer… a buck with an impressive rack of antlers standing on the opposite side of the river. Napoleon hesitated moving the car, not wanting to startle the creature. If his mood hadn't been so down, it would have made a perfect Christmas image.

The beast raised it's magnificent head, suddenly hearing something and took off, gone from sight in just seconds.

Napoleon gave a weary sigh. He was tired, so rather than heading home to the city, he decided to drive to the nearby town as there was a place he could stay called the 'White Deer Motel.' It didn't take him long to find it, as the little village consisted of a diner, the motel, a drug store, hardware store and half a dozen older houses.

A few trucks out in front of the diner was a good indicator of tasty food, a point that Illya made to him on numerous occasions. Napoleon was missing those little tidbits thrown out all too often by his partner, but what he wouldn't give to hear Kuryakin bits of trivia.

After having a solitary meal of meatloaf, carrots and mashed potatoes, along with a delicious cup of coffee. For dessert, in honor of his partner, a slice of apple pie a la mode with chocolate ice cream. It was Illya's favorite.

He shook his head as he ate that last forkful of pie. Illya would be on his second slice by now… that thought did it. Napoleon dropped his fork on the plate and muffled a sob. He hid his face, hoping the waitress and other patrons hadn't heard him.

Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he withdrew enough cash to pay for the food plus a generous tip. Not waiting for the bill; he left the money on the table before disappearing out the door and heading to his car.

The clerk at the motel was about as interested as a slug as Napoleon signed in and paid for his room, just a little over ten dollars...the going rate.

"Is there a mini-bar in the room?"

"Yeah, we just got 'em in, what you call a mini-fridge but the bar is extra."

"I understand." Napoleon tossed down some extra cash, more than enough for what he planned to imbibe.

Once in the room Napoleon draped his coat to a nearby chair, kicked off his boots and shed his clothing piece by piece, something that was very much unlike him and was more Illya's habit. Every little nuance of behavior seemed to bring him back to Kuryakin.

"My God Illya are you possessing me?" He laughed but that quickly turned into another sob. How could it be? How could the indestructible Russian be gone? Napoleon didn't want to believe it, even though there was a little voice inside his head telling him he needed to accept the truth.

Illya Kuryakin was dead.

Solo hit the mini-bar, pouring himself a scotch straight up and little by little he let the liquor work it's magic. Finally feeling nicely toasted, he crawled beneath the bedcovers and turned out the light. He quickly fell asleep and began to dream.

"_Napoleon? Where are you? Come to me?"_ Illya called, his voice sounding distant and weak. "_Please do not leave me?"_

Solo woke up with a gasp; the sheets damp with perspiration. It was two in the morning and though he knew it was just dream, he dreaded going back to sleep.

He turned on the black and white television in the room, finding little else but an Indian head test pattern at which to look.

Napoleon got out of bed, dressed himself and headed outside to clear his head. It was snowing harder, but that didn't matter as he walked alone along the sidewalk beneath the tall bare-boned trees. He wasn't going anywhere in particular.

The crisp air filled his lungs as he cleared his head. What were his dreams telling him? Was Illya alive or was he calling from the grave for his body to be found? Was it his unwillingness to accept his partner's dead? Tomorrow, or more correctly today, he would talk to the people in town, and give it one last college try to find his friend; he owed the Russian that much, to try to find him...alive or dead.

"Oh God I'm begging you to please help me find Illya? Is that too much to ask for a Christmas present?" Napoleon prayed out loud.

There was no miraculous response that suddenly appeared in his head, no angel peering over his shoulder whispering to him. Nothing...though that didn't make Napoleon Solo stop believing in God. He knew sometimes prayers weren't always meant to be answered and things happened for a reason.

He returned to his motel room, dropping into bed fully dressed and prayed again for help, and that he wouldn't be haunted by anymore dreams.

When Napoleon woke, it was just around nine in the morning. Though he hadn't planned to sleep in, his drinking and late night stroll saw to it he had.

He wandered around the small village, showing Illya's picture and questioning the locals. The townspeople had nothing they could tell him to help him in his search, though they were all kind and sympathetic.

Napoleon's renewed trek along the river took him even farther down to where it was now covered with a thick layer of ice, so thick that he was able to walk on top of it.

Searching in vain for anything dark caught beneath the surface, hopeful, yet dreading it; Napoleon finally threw in the towel, though it ate at him to do so. He had to accept his partner was gone, and it was his fault. That was something he'd have to live with for the rest of his life.

Driving back to New York was again done in silence; he couldn't bare the thought of turning on the radio, perhaps ever again as it would remind him…

Napoleon supposed he eventually would but right now it was too soon, too raw a feeling. If he hadn't argued with the Russian about the radio and distracted him, Illya might still be alive.

He knew his partner would want him to carry on, and of course he would, though it didn't mean he had to like it, not without his best friend.

Solo finally pulled onto the street where his apartment building was located, in the east forties...Kuryakin's place was there too, on the floor below Napoleon's place.

Did he want to sleep at home tonight knowing how he was feeling. Why the hell did Waverly give him this time off? He'd much rather be out on some mission...maybe he'd get shot and killed, making an end of it all.

He trudged up the stairs to his apartment, like a man weary of life and came to the realization he didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want sex either. Napoleon unlocked his door, heading straight for the telephone and dialed up the one person he knew wouldn't refuse his request.

"Hello?"

"April it's Napoleon."

"Darling where have you been? I tried contacting your communicator but it was inactive. Oh I'm so sorry about Illya, Mark and I heard the news when we got back this morning."

There was no response.

"Are you all right?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, but I would like some company, if you don't mind, and I mean just company. Could I come over, maybe stay the night?" Napoleon's voice was so forlorn.

"Oh darling of course you can."

"Thanks, I'll be there shortly." He hung up the receiver, not waiting for her to say anything else.

He took a quick shower, shaved and changed into fresh clothing. As depressed as he was it was still no reason for him not to be well groomed and properly dressed. Aunt Amy would never forgive him.

Putting on his black trench coat; Solo headed back down to his car, and drove off on the slushy-snow filled street. It was dark but at least traffic was light.

Aprils new digs were across town and as Napoleon continued driving, a dark figure suddenly darted in front of his car. He instinctively hit the brakes, skidding out of control right into a street lamp.

The horn blared into the night as his body slumped forward against it, and somehow the car radio had come to life...

"_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose._

_Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight…"_

A blond-haired man peered into the car, calling to him.

"Are you all right?"

Napoleon raised a woozy head, trying to focus on the figure in front of him.

"Illya?"

"_Sorry Mister, I was chasing my dog. He sort of got away from me._"

"My name...is, Nap-oleon."

The blond was now holding a miniature black poodle, petting the dog to calm it down. He reached in, pushing the driver back from the steering wheel and silencing the horn.

Napoleon shook his head, trying to understand why he was looking at a poodle wearing a red plaid coat along with a jeweled collar, and why was that damn song was playing?

"_Napoleon?"_

Solo's head drooped forward, passing out before he could respond.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Napoleon? Please do not leave me. Come back to me my friend,_" Illya Kuryakin called again and again.

Solo saw his partner's pale face under the ice, his blue eyes dulled and lifeless. He was filled with horror at the sight.

"Illya no!" The American gasped. Sitting up in an unfamiliar bed, he blinked his eyes, trying to focus. "Where was he?"

"Hello there darling, another bad dream huh?" April Dancer leaned over, carefully stroking his head and brushing back a stray lock of hair. She made sure to avoid a large lump that had blossomed on his forehead.

The lights in the room were dimmed and a large curtain blocked part of his view.

"Where am I?"

"Hospital. You had a nasty encounter with a light pole while you were on your way over to my place."

"Oh yeah, right. I remember now. There was a blond man..._Illya_?"

**( ****Collapse**** )**

"No it wasn't him. Apparently the fellow ran in front of your car, chasing after his dog that got away from him. You swerved to miss hitting him…

"And hit the pole instead, that I remember," Napoleon said. "Was the dog wearing a red and black checked sweater?" He found the memory of that rather incongruous.

"Yes, pretty ugly too, the sweater that is but the dog was cute. Her name's Fifi and is an adorable little black poodle. She's all right by the way."

"And what's my prognosis Doctor Dancer?"

"A mild concussion but you'll be fine. You're coming home with me though as I convinced the doctor you'd be in good hands. He doesn't want you to be alone for now, and I don't want you spending Christmas in a hospital."

"Thanks April, I appreciate that, though I may not be fit company."

Napoleon moaned as he sat up; flipping back the covers he realized he was dressed in a rather drafty hospital gown.

"Do you know where my clothes are?"

"They're hanging up in the closet, all neat and waiting for you."

He tried to stand but immediately felt dizzy and dropped back down to the mattress.

"Oh no you don't Mister. I'll get your clothes; you just sit tight."

April retrieved the clothing and handed it to him; turning her back as he dressed.

"My aren't you being shy. It's not like you haven't seen me naked as a jaybird before," Napoleon finally smiled.

"I was just being polite, now sit still while I help you with your shoes. You shouldn't be bending over too much right now."

One he was dressed, April told him to wait as she'd be right back. She returned minutes later pushing a wheelchair with a nurse who had Solo's discharge papers walking beside her.

He signed everything, and was handed his instructions of what to do and what not to without a word of complaint as he sort of knew the drill; this wasn't his first concussion. He did, however protest the need for the wheelchair.

"I can walk under my own steam if it's all right with you," he said to Nurse Linda.

"Sorry Mr. Solo, hospital policy. Discharging patients must be wheeled downstairs. I'll be accompanying you and Miss Dancer to make sure you comply."

"Oh don't worry about that, he wouldn't dare mess with me," April smiled.

Napoleon gave up without a fight, figuring he was outnumbered and lowered himself into the chair, releasing the brakes as soon as he was settled. April laid his trench coat in his lap and they were finally off.

April slowly pushed the chair, passing door after door until Napoleon suddenly made her stop. He had this overwhelming feeling as they neared the final patient's room nearest to the nurses station.

It was dark except for a small light in the back of the room over the patient's bed.

He looked at the nametag on the wall outside the door.

"John Doe?".

"Yes Mr. Solo. He was brought in a few days ago, unconscious. He had no identification on him and police have no prints matching his on file, so at least we know he's not a criminal."

"What happened to him?"

"Hypothermia. He was found in the woods in Northwest New Jersey. Poor fellow, he's in an induced coma right now…there's a possibility he may be brain damaged….oh I'm sorry, I've said too much," the nurse apologized, realizing her break in protocol.

The wheels in Napoleon's head began to turn; the time frame was right as was the location. "Hypothermia….it had to be Illya. Please God let it be…" Napoleon kept his thoughts to himself.

"May I see him?"

"I don't think that such a good idea Mr. Solo, you've suffered head trauma and need your rest," Nurse Linda said.

He stood up, getting out of the chair and walked towards the doorway.

"Napoleon, what are you doing? Sit back down,"April ordered him, but he refused.

"Just humor me." Phrases popped into his head as if he was being reminded...'seek and you will find, ask and you shall be given, knock and the door shall be opened.'

Something made him do just that... knock on the door before entering, and as he saw the man laying in the bed, his blond hair shining under the light over his head; Napoleon gasped.

"Illya…"

He immediately went to his partner's bedside, staring at the deathly pale face through tear-filled eyes. He took hold of the Russian's hand, clasping it tightly as it lay limp in his grasp.

"Oh my God it really is Illya!" April gasped.

"You two know this man?" The nurse asked.

"Yes," April answered." His name is Illya Kuryakin and we...all work together. He's Mr. Solo's best friend and we thought he'd died in an accident days car went over a washed out bridge into an icy river. Mr. Solo survived but Mr. Kuryakin's body wasn't found. This really is a miracle."

Suddenly Illya began to groan…

"He's coming to. I need to get the doctor right away," Nurse Linda hurriedly said as she dashed from the room.

Illya continued to moan, and at last he spoke."_Napoleon, where are you? Come back to me?"_

Solo shook his head, hearing Illya's voice, though the Russian's lips weren't moving. "How could that be?"

"I'm here buddy boy," Napoleon called.

"_Napoleon!"_ This time Illya practically shouted his name.

"Oh thank God, he's waking up," April said.

There was a fluttering of eyes as they were opened, blinking a few times until he could focus. He was looking up at the face of his smiling partner as well as April Dancer.

"Welcome back my friend," Kuryakin said."You had us worried.

"I don't understand," Napoleon whispered. He was back in bed again?

"Do you remember the accident...the car going into the river?"

"Yes, but we thought you were dead, your body was missing and I went searching for you. but...but I couldn't find you. You kept calling to me in my dreams."

"Napoleon, it was you who went missing, not I. You have been in a coma."

"Darling, Illya's been by your bedside practically day and night, talking to you, calling to you."

Napoleon spotted something in Illya's hand, red and black check...it was his hat.

"What are you doing with that tovarisch?"

"Oh, your hat?" Illya blushed. "I saved it from the car, I knew how much you liked this hideous thing and well, holding onto it helped me keep up my spirits."

A doctor appeared, stepping up beside the bed.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to examine…"

"You're Walter Chambellan," Napoleon cut him off.

"That's correct Mr. Solo. I'm your doctor, though how you know my name, I have no idea. Hmmm, something to discuss later. Fascinating things that people can sense when in a comatose state. Now I need to check your vitals. If your friends will please wait outside, while the nurse assists me."

After Dr. Chambellan and Nurse Linda completed a thorough examination and pronounced the patient to be fine. Hearing the good news, Illya returned to his partner's bedside.

"So you dreamt you were searching for me in the river? Amazing, as that was what I was actually doing. The UNCLE motor pool dredged up the car from the water, they sent divers down looking for you. And you said you heard me calling you, thinking you were dreaming it, that is very interesting."

"Yeah, pretty weird huh? It all seemed so real chum." Napoleon ran his fingers through his dark hair, still feeling a bit awed that he'd dreamt what seemed so vividly real.

"The mind is an amazing thing my friend as is the human spirit." Illya leaned closer to his friend.

"I have to say I did a lot of soul searching and praying in my comatose world."

"Napoleon, as did I, thinking I was going to lose you. There is a small Orthodox church near the hospital, and I made a few trips there to light candles for you. It is you I hold responsible at least in part for making me admit the possibility that God exists and helps us out from time to time."

"God works in mysterious ways my friend," Napoleon smiled. "Seek and you will find, ask and you shall …"

"I am familiar with those phrases, they are from the bible,'Luke 11:9. '_And I say to you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be opened to you'._ Very appropriate," Illya spoke softly.

"I think those were the answers given to me as I prayed in my...dreams? Hmmm, so you reading the bible now? There's hope for you yet tovarisch...say, what day is it?"

"Firstly the bible is a book. You know well enough I like to read books, and today is Christmas. Why?"

"I didn't miss it then, Napoleon smiled, thinking he was like Ebenezer Scrooge, or perhaps waking from a long sleep. He wasn't quite sure how he felt other than being happy Illya was all right and so was he. He wondered if this counted as some sort of Christmas miracle.

"Hey you two, I think it's time to break it up. Illya, you're exhausted and Napoleon you need your rest," April said, leaning forward, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, she whispered to him. "I'm so glad you're all right darling. I'll be giving you some extra special tender-loving care once you're home."

"I'm counting on it," Napoleon whispered back, winking at her.

Illya still managed to hear their whisperings and automatically rolled his eyes, with a smile. He was glad his partner was around to make him do that.

Illya, accompanied by April Dancer left the hospital. It had started to snow again and in the distance, church bells were ringing. The neon lights of the city seemed more cheerful now.

"Indulge me?" Illya said, leading her on his arm to the nearby Orthodox church. Once inside, he went to a table where there were dozens of candles burning. He lit a new one, placing it among the others, and bowed his head.

When he was finished, Illya walked out with April, though she said nothing, respecting his private moment. She was surprised him go into a church, much less to pray; thinking all along he'd been a Godless Russian, but apparently Illya Kuryakin was not what he appeared to be.

The snow, church bells and seeing him in church and praying made for a perfect moment to April, making her smile.

"Merry Christmas Illya. You hungry?"

"Merry Christmas to you too April. Thank you for staying with me through all this, I appreciate it and yes I am starving."

"Well there's a Thai restaurant not too far from here, come on...my treat. We can even bring back a doggie bag for Napoleon."

"I have a better idea, if you do not mind? Might we get the order to go and share our Christmas meal with him."

"That my dear Mr. Kuryakin is a perfect idea." April leaned over, giving him a peck on the cheek.


End file.
